☆Charles Smith and Dylan Davis red dead redemption roleplay blog, blog created sometime in August 2025. I am not affiliated with Rockstar gaming, nor any acting. The person who did the motion capture and voicing for Charles is @noshirdalal. This is a sideblog, all follows/likes from @ink-stained-paws☆
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Why i muse Charles
Analysis on him (not finishedtill part seven!): part one part two part three part four part five along with a small drabble of 'how he lost his soul' and how he got it back
Voice claim
Writing piece
yes I know, it's not my usual format or shit and honestly I hate thst it isn't, but I just feel the need ti get something out there for buck. I dunno. More so to show what buck is doing today xD
Buck had been sitting on the steps of the cabin, but when he pulled out the pack of cigarettes, he realized he didn't want to smoke around the house. He sighed and forced himself up, limping down the trail of the cabin and just heading to the open field. He didn't need to go far... just away.
He sat down against a tree as he lit one of the cigarettes and placed it in his mouth.
Looking Back: Losing you has devastated me on an existential level. I don’t know who I am, or was, for that matter. I don’t know what I want— do I push everyone away and isolate myself, or do I drown out my thoughts with drink and crowds? You leaving altered my life in ways I can’t even begin to fathom, and I’m afraid I’ll have to do something drastic to undo it. For now, all I can do is grieve.
Bag of Bones: wipes away tears SIKE hahahaha fuck you
@just-a-lone-soul @magpies-and-mysteries etc never forced of course<333
It was often for Dylan to leave the cabin when things got rough for him. It was his only routine; if things got overwhelming, or anyone had an argument of any kind, even a small one, he'd leave. Get on chance, and ride.
It was a really bad habit, because it wasn't just for an hour. He left for days. He'd just wander mindlessly, sleep under Bridges, fall back a little to how he used to be. Even when he got frightened, he ran away. Stayed away.
the worst part, Is when he came back. He acted like everything was fine. Like he hadn't just up and left, maybe worried others, maybe made others feel guilty. It wasn't the lack that he cared, it was just... a habit. It still wasn't an excuse at all, but whenever someone tried to confront him about it, he just ignored them or nodded along without really listening. It certainly was annoying to a point.
Tonight, was one of those nights. He wasn't sure really what triggered it, a argument maybe? A simple disagreement? He wasn't sure why he didn't remember. But, he had rushed out of the cabin, tears in his eyes, chest heaving for breath, his legs felt light as they ran to the stable, covered in shadows.
He searched blindly until he found reigns and hopped up onto his horse, Chance. Chance nwighed in protest, it was midnight man, let the horse sleep! But he just urged him forward and out, galloping into the woods....
Four days he was gone. Four days is what it took for him to trug back into the cabin... his clothes ruffled, his hair messy, tail puffed and twitching, form exhausted. He just wanted to go to his bed and sleep...
... something felt off. Usually huron was at the kitchen table, and would look over. Or Oliver was on the couch and would rush up, asking if he was ok. Or even have Buck step over and tell him how irresponsible he was.
... but the cabin was quiet. Dimmed. The boys brow furrowed and he tentatively walked forward, clearly his throat, ❝Hur...? Johnnie? Olive?? Bucky?... Dante??...❞ silence met his words.
Animals weren't even around. No mice scattering around. No hounds, no scrap and Bata, no hero, no fang. Nothing. Nobody. Dylans heart began to race; which was a odd feeling he hadn't felt in months... with no heart... how could he hear it in his ears?
Focus Dylan. One at a time. He bit his lip and called out again, ❝H-huron!?❞ Nothing still. He let out a whimper and felt tears come to his eye. He limped to Huron and Bucks room and knocked once. When no one answer he pushed it open. The sheets were unmade, left messy, but it looked like it had been abandoned. The room was practically empty.
He gasped and rushed then to the shared room, throwing the door open. Same as hurons, Johnnies things gone, Oliver's things gone. Dylans stuff was there, but ripped, torn, scattered. Puppy was torn from what looked like scraps teeth, a floppy ear a few feet away from it.
Dylan couldn't help but back up into the hall, standing there for a moment in shock.
Did... they leave him? Did they finaly grow tired of his shit? Were they pulling a prank on him for leaving? Were they trying to teach him a lesson? He didn't like this one. Ohhh he didn't want to be left. His good leg began to shake and before he knew it, he was sobbing, hiccuping. He didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he knew.
He ran out the door, got on chance again and galloped, but this time toward Tubbs studio. Once there, he didn't even bother to properly halt chance, just jumped off and rush to the door banging on it with both fists and howling into the night.
But no one heard.
He banged on the door until his hands were red and bruised. He sobbed as he slunk against it. He wanted his family. He promised to a god he didn't believe in that he'd never run away again, he'd never hide again, just bring them back. Please. Bring them back. Anything to bring them back.
He woke to himself hiccuping, his pillow wet with tears and eyes burning. He sat up, sniffling and rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. He stayed like that for a moment before slowly crawling out of bed. He grabbed his prosthetic leg and hooked it on as he limped out into the dark hallway. He didn't have a thought in his brain as he stared at hurons door; he knew he was asleep. He hadn't left.
He stared for a few, then limped to the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes as he grabbed a lemonade from their makeshift fridge, then closed it, and trudged to the front door. He walked into the cold night, in just a oversized band shirt from Johnnie. He didn't go to the stables, didn't go to chance. Just... sat himself down on the steps, watching the sky as he sniffled and drank his lemonade.
Sherlock had wandered back to the cabin. Not sure why. Just felt like maybe that was the place to go for now.
He had just finished helping Mr. Morgan with another mission. A tough one. Lots of chasing and fighting. Sherlock was built for those kinds of missions, though. Even if his joints protested.
The cabin came into view, and he took a loaf of bread from his bag. A thank-you gift of sorts, for his new friend Dylan. Who was sat on the front steps, looking dejected. What had happened?
Dylan heard some footsteps and looked over, a bit confused. Who was coming here at this late?? The footsteps didn't sound familiar... he narrowed his good eye to try and see in the darkness.
When Sherlock got a bit closer is when he recognized. He smiled a little, tail giving a small wag as he stood up, brushing dirt off himself. ❝Heyyyy, Sherlock! Nice ta see you again.❞
He wiped his eye quickly to get the last remnants of tears.
He shrugged, ❝Things are things I guess, ya know. Haven't been bad really, so suppose I can't complain too hard.❞ he laughed, wiping some dirt off his hands.
Sherlock chuckled, not believing a word. “Got caught up helping Mr. Morgan with something. Supposed to be a ‘quick trip’. I guess quick to him means from sunup to sundown,” he joked.
“I’m also deducting things. Like the fact that I could’ve sworn you were crying just now. You sure things are good?”
Dylan snickered, smirking a bit. ❝So that's why you look a bit roughed up huh? Yeek. 'Least your alive, must be tired though. Wanna come in?❞
He blinked a few times and shuffled. ❝Crying? N-nah, uh, I was uh- it was... i...❞ he looked away and bit his lip. ❝...Jus' a lil'. Yeah, everything's um, ok generally.❞
Dylan perked up and looked at the loaf. He smiled. ❝Oh, hey thanks! Ya didn't have too, but thank you!❞ he could make more grilled cheese with this!
He held the door open for Sherlock as the went inside. He frowned a bit, tail sagging. ❝...I jus'... had a bad nightmare that um.. felt real and.. and could become real one day if I don't get my shit together...❞ he chuckled weakly.
Dylan led them inside, hesitating. He sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh. ❝... I mean. I guess not.. entirely. I'd have to do something REALLY fucked up for it to happen, and even then...❞
❝...When things hard or- or different, I um. Run. I-it's a bad habit i know, to escape instead of talking it out. A-and i stay away for days.❞ he shrugged and bit his lip. ❝My nightmare was that I had ran, then came back. And... everyone was gone. Their stuff, my stuff was torn... i.. I ran to my uncle's and he was gone too...❞
Sherlock sat on the couch next to Dylan, listening. He glanced around the cabin, as if checking to make sure nothing Dylan described from his dream had actually happened. "So... you think they left because you ran and they got mad? Or because they went to look for you?"
He shook his head, looking down as he fidgeted with his bracelets. ❝They left, because they were irritated with my habit o' runnin'... they... didn't wanna deal with me anymore. W-which um... I would understand....❞
Dylan's bracelets were interesting; Sherlock couldn't help but wonder about the stories each one held. "Maybe. But you also call them your brother and uncle. I get the idea that you guys chose each other."
"A lot of my friends are runners. I am too, sometimes. Assuming we don't go looking for each other, there has never been a time we came back and the lights were off. The people waiting under the lamp were brothers, sisters, fathers. Maybe I'm overstepping, but... it doesn't sound like they would leave you. It's a scary thought, sure, but logically, reasonably, they wouldn't do that, would they?"
He nodded slowly, and let out a breath. ❝Realistically, no. Huron wouldn't leave, H-hes been left before and... he doesn't wanna do that to anyone else. Buck may get real angry, but he doesn't leave, same with johnnie. Oliver may get anxious... but doesn’t leave... 'n Tubbs ain't gonna up 'n leave his studio i know that...❞
He closed his eyes. ❝'m the only one who leaves sometimes... and.. i-i dunno how to stop and not get scared. Ya know?❞
“I do, yeah.” Thought it had gone worse for Sherlock than just bad dreams. “There’s nothing wrong with stepping out for a second. Taking a breath. I think it’s the ‘days on end’ bit that gets worrying. But you know that realistically no-one will leave you.”
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s a first step. Rationalising things helps me a lot. Especially when it comes to relationships, rejection, stuff like that.”
Dylan nodded, looking up. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a whisper. ❝...that gang i used to be in? The ruffians?... I learned running from them. I mean. I learned that... if I... if I said no to something, to someone, I had to run. If I didn't want to be part of something i had to run and hide for days, until it was passed.❞ he sighed and shook his head.
❝I uh. Dunno how to really rationalize. I get so... in my head.❞ he chuckled weakly. ❝...I'l work on it...❞
“Guess that makes sense, with a name like ‘ruffians’. Geez.” Sherlock looked at Dylan, vague concern on his face. “That’s not normal. Or okay. It sounds like you were forced to do things. That’s not how a gang is supposed to work. I’m sorry.”
He smiled slightly at the chuckle. “It’s not easy. Humans are irrational by default. Especially if you don’t catch it early enough.”
Dylan looked away, tail curling around himself as he remembered Seth, Marisa, the robberies, the guns to his head, the... other stuff. He frowned. ❝...It wasn't ok. We weren't really a gang. More so jus'.. broken misfits, blaming each other and using. I thoight they were my friends the longest time, even after we all split. Wasn't until real recently I realized how fucked everything was.❞
He shrugged and cleared his throat. ❝But past is past, I've gotten my bits of revenge and paid for it.... 'n no kidding.❞
He looked at sherlock and smiled a little. ❝....I never turn down a hug anymore.❞
“Nope! No more than usual, anyway,” Sherlock chuckled. “He just needed someone to watch his back, I suppose. Though not one of his gang… nevermind. You need anything? More lemonade?”
Dylan nodded slowly, and frowned a little. ❝....Do you... think that gang will last? I-i've jus'... heard from charles sometimes that things seem uh, tense.❞
He shook his head. ❝Besides a nap tomorrow probably, nah.❞
“Ha! No. Not from what Mr. Morgan’s said. Mainly about a Dutch and a Micah. Which… if they got Micah out, maybe. But Dutch is the leader, isn’t he? So that poses a problem.”
Dylan nodded, and shivered at the remembrance of Micah. ❝Micah, blegh... he shot me once, 'n tied me up to his horse once too. Wasn't fun. I hope he rots.❞
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Oh? He stays at camp? I’ll fight him for you.” He didn’t actually know where the camp was, but it couldn’t possibly be that hard to find.
He smiled back and stood up, getting a bit dizzy but letting it pass. ❝Hell yeah. You can take the couch here, 'n I'll sleep out on the floor here. Ima grab some blankets and stuff!❞
Dylan smiled at him and nodded, ❝You can take the couch, trust me, I've slept in worse than the ground. Much worse.... water would be nice though so I'll have ta get that-❞
“Here, I can take care of the water. I think I remember where the cups are.” He made his way to the kitchen, looking through a cabinet or two before finding the water glasses.
Dylan smiled softly at Sherlock, grateful. He moved to the bedroom, being quiet not to wake johnnie or Oliver, and grabbed aome blankets and pillows. He then made his way back to the living room, starting to set up.
Sherlock put two glasses of water on the table and sat down, sighing. He started to zone out, but snapped back to life and smiled as Dylan came back and got out of the way so he could do what he wanted with the blankets and such.
Dylan set the pillows and blankets down and hummed, ❝I would make like a fort thingy, but I ain't so good at those, 'n johnnie the real master of 'em... so... hope this suffices!❞ he smiled then grabbed the water and took a drink.
Dylan nodded and transformed into his fox form, curling up very close to the couch where Sherlock lay and closed his eye. He felt better already; he had a friend safe with him.
@just-a-lone-soul @magpies-and-mysteries etc never forced of course<333
It was often for Dylan to leave the cabin when things got rough for him. It was his only routine; if things got overwhelming, or anyone had an argument of any kind, even a small one, he'd leave. Get on chance, and ride.
It was a really bad habit, because it wasn't just for an hour. He left for days. He'd just wander mindlessly, sleep under Bridges, fall back a little to how he used to be. Even when he got frightened, he ran away. Stayed away.
the worst part, Is when he came back. He acted like everything was fine. Like he hadn't just up and left, maybe worried others, maybe made others feel guilty. It wasn't the lack that he cared, it was just... a habit. It still wasn't an excuse at all, but whenever someone tried to confront him about it, he just ignored them or nodded along without really listening. It certainly was annoying to a point.
Tonight, was one of those nights. He wasn't sure really what triggered it, a argument maybe? A simple disagreement? He wasn't sure why he didn't remember. But, he had rushed out of the cabin, tears in his eyes, chest heaving for breath, his legs felt light as they ran to the stable, covered in shadows.
He searched blindly until he found reigns and hopped up onto his horse, Chance. Chance nwighed in protest, it was midnight man, let the horse sleep! But he just urged him forward and out, galloping into the woods....
Four days he was gone. Four days is what it took for him to trug back into the cabin... his clothes ruffled, his hair messy, tail puffed and twitching, form exhausted. He just wanted to go to his bed and sleep...
... something felt off. Usually huron was at the kitchen table, and would look over. Or Oliver was on the couch and would rush up, asking if he was ok. Or even have Buck step over and tell him how irresponsible he was.
... but the cabin was quiet. Dimmed. The boys brow furrowed and he tentatively walked forward, clearly his throat, ❝Hur...? Johnnie? Olive?? Bucky?... Dante??...❞ silence met his words.
Animals weren't even around. No mice scattering around. No hounds, no scrap and Bata, no hero, no fang. Nothing. Nobody. Dylans heart began to race; which was a odd feeling he hadn't felt in months... with no heart... how could he hear it in his ears?
Focus Dylan. One at a time. He bit his lip and called out again, ❝H-huron!?❞ Nothing still. He let out a whimper and felt tears come to his eye. He limped to Huron and Bucks room and knocked once. When no one answer he pushed it open. The sheets were unmade, left messy, but it looked like it had been abandoned. The room was practically empty.
He gasped and rushed then to the shared room, throwing the door open. Same as hurons, Johnnies things gone, Oliver's things gone. Dylans stuff was there, but ripped, torn, scattered. Puppy was torn from what looked like scraps teeth, a floppy ear a few feet away from it.
Dylan couldn't help but back up into the hall, standing there for a moment in shock.
Did... they leave him? Did they finaly grow tired of his shit? Were they pulling a prank on him for leaving? Were they trying to teach him a lesson? He didn't like this one. Ohhh he didn't want to be left. His good leg began to shake and before he knew it, he was sobbing, hiccuping. He didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he knew.
He ran out the door, got on chance again and galloped, but this time toward Tubbs studio. Once there, he didn't even bother to properly halt chance, just jumped off and rush to the door banging on it with both fists and howling into the night.
But no one heard.
He banged on the door until his hands were red and bruised. He sobbed as he slunk against it. He wanted his family. He promised to a god he didn't believe in that he'd never run away again, he'd never hide again, just bring them back. Please. Bring them back. Anything to bring them back.
He woke to himself hiccuping, his pillow wet with tears and eyes burning. He sat up, sniffling and rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. He stayed like that for a moment before slowly crawling out of bed. He grabbed his prosthetic leg and hooked it on as he limped out into the dark hallway. He didn't have a thought in his brain as he stared at hurons door; he knew he was asleep. He hadn't left.
He stared for a few, then limped to the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes as he grabbed a lemonade from their makeshift fridge, then closed it, and trudged to the front door. He walked into the cold night, in just a oversized band shirt from Johnnie. He didn't go to the stables, didn't go to chance. Just... sat himself down on the steps, watching the sky as he sniffled and drank his lemonade.
Sherlock had wandered back to the cabin. Not sure why. Just felt like maybe that was the place to go for now.
He had just finished helping Mr. Morgan with another mission. A tough one. Lots of chasing and fighting. Sherlock was built for those kinds of missions, though. Even if his joints protested.
The cabin came into view, and he took a loaf of bread from his bag. A thank-you gift of sorts, for his new friend Dylan. Who was sat on the front steps, looking dejected. What had happened?
Dylan heard some footsteps and looked over, a bit confused. Who was coming here at this late?? The footsteps didn't sound familiar... he narrowed his good eye to try and see in the darkness.
When Sherlock got a bit closer is when he recognized. He smiled a little, tail giving a small wag as he stood up, brushing dirt off himself. ❝Heyyyy, Sherlock! Nice ta see you again.❞
He wiped his eye quickly to get the last remnants of tears.
He shrugged, ❝Things are things I guess, ya know. Haven't been bad really, so suppose I can't complain too hard.❞ he laughed, wiping some dirt off his hands.
Sherlock chuckled, not believing a word. “Got caught up helping Mr. Morgan with something. Supposed to be a ‘quick trip’. I guess quick to him means from sunup to sundown,” he joked.
“I’m also deducting things. Like the fact that I could’ve sworn you were crying just now. You sure things are good?”
Dylan snickered, smirking a bit. ❝So that's why you look a bit roughed up huh? Yeek. 'Least your alive, must be tired though. Wanna come in?❞
He blinked a few times and shuffled. ❝Crying? N-nah, uh, I was uh- it was... i...❞ he looked away and bit his lip. ❝...Jus' a lil'. Yeah, everything's um, ok generally.❞
Dylan perked up and looked at the loaf. He smiled. ❝Oh, hey thanks! Ya didn't have too, but thank you!❞ he could make more grilled cheese with this!
He held the door open for Sherlock as the went inside. He frowned a bit, tail sagging. ❝...I jus'... had a bad nightmare that um.. felt real and.. and could become real one day if I don't get my shit together...❞ he chuckled weakly.
Dylan led them inside, hesitating. He sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh. ❝... I mean. I guess not.. entirely. I'd have to do something REALLY fucked up for it to happen, and even then...❞
❝...When things hard or- or different, I um. Run. I-it's a bad habit i know, to escape instead of talking it out. A-and i stay away for days.❞ he shrugged and bit his lip. ❝My nightmare was that I had ran, then came back. And... everyone was gone. Their stuff, my stuff was torn... i.. I ran to my uncle's and he was gone too...❞
Sherlock sat on the couch next to Dylan, listening. He glanced around the cabin, as if checking to make sure nothing Dylan described from his dream had actually happened. "So... you think they left because you ran and they got mad? Or because they went to look for you?"
He shook his head, looking down as he fidgeted with his bracelets. ❝They left, because they were irritated with my habit o' runnin'... they... didn't wanna deal with me anymore. W-which um... I would understand....❞
Dylan's bracelets were interesting; Sherlock couldn't help but wonder about the stories each one held. "Maybe. But you also call them your brother and uncle. I get the idea that you guys chose each other."
"A lot of my friends are runners. I am too, sometimes. Assuming we don't go looking for each other, there has never been a time we came back and the lights were off. The people waiting under the lamp were brothers, sisters, fathers. Maybe I'm overstepping, but... it doesn't sound like they would leave you. It's a scary thought, sure, but logically, reasonably, they wouldn't do that, would they?"
He nodded slowly, and let out a breath. ❝Realistically, no. Huron wouldn't leave, H-hes been left before and... he doesn't wanna do that to anyone else. Buck may get real angry, but he doesn't leave, same with johnnie. Oliver may get anxious... but doesn’t leave... 'n Tubbs ain't gonna up 'n leave his studio i know that...❞
He closed his eyes. ❝'m the only one who leaves sometimes... and.. i-i dunno how to stop and not get scared. Ya know?❞
“I do, yeah.” Thought it had gone worse for Sherlock than just bad dreams. “There’s nothing wrong with stepping out for a second. Taking a breath. I think it’s the ‘days on end’ bit that gets worrying. But you know that realistically no-one will leave you.”
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s a first step. Rationalising things helps me a lot. Especially when it comes to relationships, rejection, stuff like that.”
Dylan nodded, looking up. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a whisper. ❝...that gang i used to be in? The ruffians?... I learned running from them. I mean. I learned that... if I... if I said no to something, to someone, I had to run. If I didn't want to be part of something i had to run and hide for days, until it was passed.❞ he sighed and shook his head.
❝I uh. Dunno how to really rationalize. I get so... in my head.❞ he chuckled weakly. ❝...I'l work on it...❞
“Guess that makes sense, with a name like ‘ruffians’. Geez.” Sherlock looked at Dylan, vague concern on his face. “That’s not normal. Or okay. It sounds like you were forced to do things. That’s not how a gang is supposed to work. I’m sorry.”
He smiled slightly at the chuckle. “It’s not easy. Humans are irrational by default. Especially if you don’t catch it early enough.”
Dylan looked away, tail curling around himself as he remembered Seth, Marisa, the robberies, the guns to his head, the... other stuff. He frowned. ❝...It wasn't ok. We weren't really a gang. More so jus'.. broken misfits, blaming each other and using. I thoight they were my friends the longest time, even after we all split. Wasn't until real recently I realized how fucked everything was.❞
He shrugged and cleared his throat. ❝But past is past, I've gotten my bits of revenge and paid for it.... 'n no kidding.❞
He looked at sherlock and smiled a little. ❝....I never turn down a hug anymore.❞
“Nope! No more than usual, anyway,” Sherlock chuckled. “He just needed someone to watch his back, I suppose. Though not one of his gang… nevermind. You need anything? More lemonade?”
Dylan nodded slowly, and frowned a little. ❝....Do you... think that gang will last? I-i've jus'... heard from charles sometimes that things seem uh, tense.❞
He shook his head. ❝Besides a nap tomorrow probably, nah.❞
“Ha! No. Not from what Mr. Morgan’s said. Mainly about a Dutch and a Micah. Which… if they got Micah out, maybe. But Dutch is the leader, isn’t he? So that poses a problem.”
Dylan nodded, and shivered at the remembrance of Micah. ❝Micah, blegh... he shot me once, 'n tied me up to his horse once too. Wasn't fun. I hope he rots.❞
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Oh? He stays at camp? I’ll fight him for you.” He didn’t actually know where the camp was, but it couldn’t possibly be that hard to find.
He smiled back and stood up, getting a bit dizzy but letting it pass. ❝Hell yeah. You can take the couch here, 'n I'll sleep out on the floor here. Ima grab some blankets and stuff!❞
Dylan smiled at him and nodded, ❝You can take the couch, trust me, I've slept in worse than the ground. Much worse.... water would be nice though so I'll have ta get that-❞
“Here, I can take care of the water. I think I remember where the cups are.” He made his way to the kitchen, looking through a cabinet or two before finding the water glasses.
Dylan smiled softly at Sherlock, grateful. He moved to the bedroom, being quiet not to wake johnnie or Oliver, and grabbed aome blankets and pillows. He then made his way back to the living room, starting to set up.
Sherlock put two glasses of water on the table and sat down, sighing. He started to zone out, but snapped back to life and smiled as Dylan came back and got out of the way so he could do what he wanted with the blankets and such.
Dylan set the pillows and blankets down and hummed, ❝I would make like a fort thingy, but I ain't so good at those, 'n johnnie the real master of 'em... so... hope this suffices!❞ he smiled then grabbed the water and took a drink.
@just-a-lone-soul @magpies-and-mysteries etc never forced of course<333
It was often for Dylan to leave the cabin when things got rough for him. It was his only routine; if things got overwhelming, or anyone had an argument of any kind, even a small one, he'd leave. Get on chance, and ride.
It was a really bad habit, because it wasn't just for an hour. He left for days. He'd just wander mindlessly, sleep under Bridges, fall back a little to how he used to be. Even when he got frightened, he ran away. Stayed away.
the worst part, Is when he came back. He acted like everything was fine. Like he hadn't just up and left, maybe worried others, maybe made others feel guilty. It wasn't the lack that he cared, it was just... a habit. It still wasn't an excuse at all, but whenever someone tried to confront him about it, he just ignored them or nodded along without really listening. It certainly was annoying to a point.
Tonight, was one of those nights. He wasn't sure really what triggered it, a argument maybe? A simple disagreement? He wasn't sure why he didn't remember. But, he had rushed out of the cabin, tears in his eyes, chest heaving for breath, his legs felt light as they ran to the stable, covered in shadows.
He searched blindly until he found reigns and hopped up onto his horse, Chance. Chance nwighed in protest, it was midnight man, let the horse sleep! But he just urged him forward and out, galloping into the woods....
Four days he was gone. Four days is what it took for him to trug back into the cabin... his clothes ruffled, his hair messy, tail puffed and twitching, form exhausted. He just wanted to go to his bed and sleep...
... something felt off. Usually huron was at the kitchen table, and would look over. Or Oliver was on the couch and would rush up, asking if he was ok. Or even have Buck step over and tell him how irresponsible he was.
... but the cabin was quiet. Dimmed. The boys brow furrowed and he tentatively walked forward, clearly his throat, ❝Hur...? Johnnie? Olive?? Bucky?... Dante??...❞ silence met his words.
Animals weren't even around. No mice scattering around. No hounds, no scrap and Bata, no hero, no fang. Nothing. Nobody. Dylans heart began to race; which was a odd feeling he hadn't felt in months... with no heart... how could he hear it in his ears?
Focus Dylan. One at a time. He bit his lip and called out again, ❝H-huron!?❞ Nothing still. He let out a whimper and felt tears come to his eye. He limped to Huron and Bucks room and knocked once. When no one answer he pushed it open. The sheets were unmade, left messy, but it looked like it had been abandoned. The room was practically empty.
He gasped and rushed then to the shared room, throwing the door open. Same as hurons, Johnnies things gone, Oliver's things gone. Dylans stuff was there, but ripped, torn, scattered. Puppy was torn from what looked like scraps teeth, a floppy ear a few feet away from it.
Dylan couldn't help but back up into the hall, standing there for a moment in shock.
Did... they leave him? Did they finaly grow tired of his shit? Were they pulling a prank on him for leaving? Were they trying to teach him a lesson? He didn't like this one. Ohhh he didn't want to be left. His good leg began to shake and before he knew it, he was sobbing, hiccuping. He didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he knew.
He ran out the door, got on chance again and galloped, but this time toward Tubbs studio. Once there, he didn't even bother to properly halt chance, just jumped off and rush to the door banging on it with both fists and howling into the night.
But no one heard.
He banged on the door until his hands were red and bruised. He sobbed as he slunk against it. He wanted his family. He promised to a god he didn't believe in that he'd never run away again, he'd never hide again, just bring them back. Please. Bring them back. Anything to bring them back.
He woke to himself hiccuping, his pillow wet with tears and eyes burning. He sat up, sniffling and rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. He stayed like that for a moment before slowly crawling out of bed. He grabbed his prosthetic leg and hooked it on as he limped out into the dark hallway. He didn't have a thought in his brain as he stared at hurons door; he knew he was asleep. He hadn't left.
He stared for a few, then limped to the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes as he grabbed a lemonade from their makeshift fridge, then closed it, and trudged to the front door. He walked into the cold night, in just a oversized band shirt from Johnnie. He didn't go to the stables, didn't go to chance. Just... sat himself down on the steps, watching the sky as he sniffled and drank his lemonade.
Sherlock had wandered back to the cabin. Not sure why. Just felt like maybe that was the place to go for now.
He had just finished helping Mr. Morgan with another mission. A tough one. Lots of chasing and fighting. Sherlock was built for those kinds of missions, though. Even if his joints protested.
The cabin came into view, and he took a loaf of bread from his bag. A thank-you gift of sorts, for his new friend Dylan. Who was sat on the front steps, looking dejected. What had happened?
Dylan heard some footsteps and looked over, a bit confused. Who was coming here at this late?? The footsteps didn't sound familiar... he narrowed his good eye to try and see in the darkness.
When Sherlock got a bit closer is when he recognized. He smiled a little, tail giving a small wag as he stood up, brushing dirt off himself. ❝Heyyyy, Sherlock! Nice ta see you again.❞
He wiped his eye quickly to get the last remnants of tears.
He shrugged, ❝Things are things I guess, ya know. Haven't been bad really, so suppose I can't complain too hard.❞ he laughed, wiping some dirt off his hands.
Sherlock chuckled, not believing a word. “Got caught up helping Mr. Morgan with something. Supposed to be a ‘quick trip’. I guess quick to him means from sunup to sundown,” he joked.
“I’m also deducting things. Like the fact that I could’ve sworn you were crying just now. You sure things are good?”
Dylan snickered, smirking a bit. ❝So that's why you look a bit roughed up huh? Yeek. 'Least your alive, must be tired though. Wanna come in?❞
He blinked a few times and shuffled. ❝Crying? N-nah, uh, I was uh- it was... i...❞ he looked away and bit his lip. ❝...Jus' a lil'. Yeah, everything's um, ok generally.❞
Dylan perked up and looked at the loaf. He smiled. ❝Oh, hey thanks! Ya didn't have too, but thank you!❞ he could make more grilled cheese with this!
He held the door open for Sherlock as the went inside. He frowned a bit, tail sagging. ❝...I jus'... had a bad nightmare that um.. felt real and.. and could become real one day if I don't get my shit together...❞ he chuckled weakly.
Dylan led them inside, hesitating. He sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh. ❝... I mean. I guess not.. entirely. I'd have to do something REALLY fucked up for it to happen, and even then...❞
❝...When things hard or- or different, I um. Run. I-it's a bad habit i know, to escape instead of talking it out. A-and i stay away for days.❞ he shrugged and bit his lip. ❝My nightmare was that I had ran, then came back. And... everyone was gone. Their stuff, my stuff was torn... i.. I ran to my uncle's and he was gone too...❞
Sherlock sat on the couch next to Dylan, listening. He glanced around the cabin, as if checking to make sure nothing Dylan described from his dream had actually happened. "So... you think they left because you ran and they got mad? Or because they went to look for you?"
He shook his head, looking down as he fidgeted with his bracelets. ❝They left, because they were irritated with my habit o' runnin'... they... didn't wanna deal with me anymore. W-which um... I would understand....❞
Dylan's bracelets were interesting; Sherlock couldn't help but wonder about the stories each one held. "Maybe. But you also call them your brother and uncle. I get the idea that you guys chose each other."
"A lot of my friends are runners. I am too, sometimes. Assuming we don't go looking for each other, there has never been a time we came back and the lights were off. The people waiting under the lamp were brothers, sisters, fathers. Maybe I'm overstepping, but... it doesn't sound like they would leave you. It's a scary thought, sure, but logically, reasonably, they wouldn't do that, would they?"
He nodded slowly, and let out a breath. ❝Realistically, no. Huron wouldn't leave, H-hes been left before and... he doesn't wanna do that to anyone else. Buck may get real angry, but he doesn't leave, same with johnnie. Oliver may get anxious... but doesn’t leave... 'n Tubbs ain't gonna up 'n leave his studio i know that...❞
He closed his eyes. ❝'m the only one who leaves sometimes... and.. i-i dunno how to stop and not get scared. Ya know?❞
“I do, yeah.” Thought it had gone worse for Sherlock than just bad dreams. “There’s nothing wrong with stepping out for a second. Taking a breath. I think it’s the ‘days on end’ bit that gets worrying. But you know that realistically no-one will leave you.”
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s a first step. Rationalising things helps me a lot. Especially when it comes to relationships, rejection, stuff like that.”
Dylan nodded, looking up. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a whisper. ❝...that gang i used to be in? The ruffians?... I learned running from them. I mean. I learned that... if I... if I said no to something, to someone, I had to run. If I didn't want to be part of something i had to run and hide for days, until it was passed.❞ he sighed and shook his head.
❝I uh. Dunno how to really rationalize. I get so... in my head.❞ he chuckled weakly. ❝...I'l work on it...❞
“Guess that makes sense, with a name like ‘ruffians’. Geez.” Sherlock looked at Dylan, vague concern on his face. “That’s not normal. Or okay. It sounds like you were forced to do things. That’s not how a gang is supposed to work. I’m sorry.”
He smiled slightly at the chuckle. “It’s not easy. Humans are irrational by default. Especially if you don’t catch it early enough.”
Dylan looked away, tail curling around himself as he remembered Seth, Marisa, the robberies, the guns to his head, the... other stuff. He frowned. ❝...It wasn't ok. We weren't really a gang. More so jus'.. broken misfits, blaming each other and using. I thoight they were my friends the longest time, even after we all split. Wasn't until real recently I realized how fucked everything was.❞
He shrugged and cleared his throat. ❝But past is past, I've gotten my bits of revenge and paid for it.... 'n no kidding.❞
He looked at sherlock and smiled a little. ❝....I never turn down a hug anymore.❞
“Nope! No more than usual, anyway,” Sherlock chuckled. “He just needed someone to watch his back, I suppose. Though not one of his gang… nevermind. You need anything? More lemonade?”
Dylan nodded slowly, and frowned a little. ❝....Do you... think that gang will last? I-i've jus'... heard from charles sometimes that things seem uh, tense.❞
He shook his head. ❝Besides a nap tomorrow probably, nah.❞
“Ha! No. Not from what Mr. Morgan’s said. Mainly about a Dutch and a Micah. Which… if they got Micah out, maybe. But Dutch is the leader, isn’t he? So that poses a problem.”
Dylan nodded, and shivered at the remembrance of Micah. ❝Micah, blegh... he shot me once, 'n tied me up to his horse once too. Wasn't fun. I hope he rots.❞
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Oh? He stays at camp? I’ll fight him for you.” He didn’t actually know where the camp was, but it couldn’t possibly be that hard to find.
He smiled back and stood up, getting a bit dizzy but letting it pass. ❝Hell yeah. You can take the couch here, 'n I'll sleep out on the floor here. Ima grab some blankets and stuff!❞
Dylan smiled at him and nodded, ❝You can take the couch, trust me, I've slept in worse than the ground. Much worse.... water would be nice though so I'll have ta get that-❞
“Here, I can take care of the water. I think I remember where the cups are.” He made his way to the kitchen, looking through a cabinet or two before finding the water glasses.
Dylan smiled softly at Sherlock, grateful. He moved to the bedroom, being quiet not to wake johnnie or Oliver, and grabbed aome blankets and pillows. He then made his way back to the living room, starting to set up.
Sherlock put two glasses of water on the table and sat down, sighing. He started to zone out, but snapped back to life and smiled as Dylan came back and got out of the way so he could do what he wanted with the blankets and such.
Dylan set the pillows and blankets down and hummed, ❝I would make like a fort thingy, but I ain't so good at those, 'n johnnie the real master of 'em... so... hope this suffices!❞ he smiled then grabbed the water and took a drink.
@just-a-lone-soul @magpies-and-mysteries etc never forced of course<333
It was often for Dylan to leave the cabin when things got rough for him. It was his only routine; if things got overwhelming, or anyone had an argument of any kind, even a small one, he'd leave. Get on chance, and ride.
It was a really bad habit, because it wasn't just for an hour. He left for days. He'd just wander mindlessly, sleep under Bridges, fall back a little to how he used to be. Even when he got frightened, he ran away. Stayed away.
the worst part, Is when he came back. He acted like everything was fine. Like he hadn't just up and left, maybe worried others, maybe made others feel guilty. It wasn't the lack that he cared, it was just... a habit. It still wasn't an excuse at all, but whenever someone tried to confront him about it, he just ignored them or nodded along without really listening. It certainly was annoying to a point.
Tonight, was one of those nights. He wasn't sure really what triggered it, a argument maybe? A simple disagreement? He wasn't sure why he didn't remember. But, he had rushed out of the cabin, tears in his eyes, chest heaving for breath, his legs felt light as they ran to the stable, covered in shadows.
He searched blindly until he found reigns and hopped up onto his horse, Chance. Chance nwighed in protest, it was midnight man, let the horse sleep! But he just urged him forward and out, galloping into the woods....
Four days he was gone. Four days is what it took for him to trug back into the cabin... his clothes ruffled, his hair messy, tail puffed and twitching, form exhausted. He just wanted to go to his bed and sleep...
... something felt off. Usually huron was at the kitchen table, and would look over. Or Oliver was on the couch and would rush up, asking if he was ok. Or even have Buck step over and tell him how irresponsible he was.
... but the cabin was quiet. Dimmed. The boys brow furrowed and he tentatively walked forward, clearly his throat, ❝Hur...? Johnnie? Olive?? Bucky?... Dante??...❞ silence met his words.
Animals weren't even around. No mice scattering around. No hounds, no scrap and Bata, no hero, no fang. Nothing. Nobody. Dylans heart began to race; which was a odd feeling he hadn't felt in months... with no heart... how could he hear it in his ears?
Focus Dylan. One at a time. He bit his lip and called out again, ❝H-huron!?❞ Nothing still. He let out a whimper and felt tears come to his eye. He limped to Huron and Bucks room and knocked once. When no one answer he pushed it open. The sheets were unmade, left messy, but it looked like it had been abandoned. The room was practically empty.
He gasped and rushed then to the shared room, throwing the door open. Same as hurons, Johnnies things gone, Oliver's things gone. Dylans stuff was there, but ripped, torn, scattered. Puppy was torn from what looked like scraps teeth, a floppy ear a few feet away from it.
Dylan couldn't help but back up into the hall, standing there for a moment in shock.
Did... they leave him? Did they finaly grow tired of his shit? Were they pulling a prank on him for leaving? Were they trying to teach him a lesson? He didn't like this one. Ohhh he didn't want to be left. His good leg began to shake and before he knew it, he was sobbing, hiccuping. He didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he knew.
He ran out the door, got on chance again and galloped, but this time toward Tubbs studio. Once there, he didn't even bother to properly halt chance, just jumped off and rush to the door banging on it with both fists and howling into the night.
But no one heard.
He banged on the door until his hands were red and bruised. He sobbed as he slunk against it. He wanted his family. He promised to a god he didn't believe in that he'd never run away again, he'd never hide again, just bring them back. Please. Bring them back. Anything to bring them back.
He woke to himself hiccuping, his pillow wet with tears and eyes burning. He sat up, sniffling and rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. He stayed like that for a moment before slowly crawling out of bed. He grabbed his prosthetic leg and hooked it on as he limped out into the dark hallway. He didn't have a thought in his brain as he stared at hurons door; he knew he was asleep. He hadn't left.
He stared for a few, then limped to the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes as he grabbed a lemonade from their makeshift fridge, then closed it, and trudged to the front door. He walked into the cold night, in just a oversized band shirt from Johnnie. He didn't go to the stables, didn't go to chance. Just... sat himself down on the steps, watching the sky as he sniffled and drank his lemonade.
Sherlock had wandered back to the cabin. Not sure why. Just felt like maybe that was the place to go for now.
He had just finished helping Mr. Morgan with another mission. A tough one. Lots of chasing and fighting. Sherlock was built for those kinds of missions, though. Even if his joints protested.
The cabin came into view, and he took a loaf of bread from his bag. A thank-you gift of sorts, for his new friend Dylan. Who was sat on the front steps, looking dejected. What had happened?
Dylan heard some footsteps and looked over, a bit confused. Who was coming here at this late?? The footsteps didn't sound familiar... he narrowed his good eye to try and see in the darkness.
When Sherlock got a bit closer is when he recognized. He smiled a little, tail giving a small wag as he stood up, brushing dirt off himself. ❝Heyyyy, Sherlock! Nice ta see you again.❞
He wiped his eye quickly to get the last remnants of tears.
He shrugged, ❝Things are things I guess, ya know. Haven't been bad really, so suppose I can't complain too hard.❞ he laughed, wiping some dirt off his hands.
Sherlock chuckled, not believing a word. “Got caught up helping Mr. Morgan with something. Supposed to be a ‘quick trip’. I guess quick to him means from sunup to sundown,” he joked.
“I’m also deducting things. Like the fact that I could’ve sworn you were crying just now. You sure things are good?”
Dylan snickered, smirking a bit. ❝So that's why you look a bit roughed up huh? Yeek. 'Least your alive, must be tired though. Wanna come in?❞
He blinked a few times and shuffled. ❝Crying? N-nah, uh, I was uh- it was... i...❞ he looked away and bit his lip. ❝...Jus' a lil'. Yeah, everything's um, ok generally.❞
Dylan perked up and looked at the loaf. He smiled. ❝Oh, hey thanks! Ya didn't have too, but thank you!❞ he could make more grilled cheese with this!
He held the door open for Sherlock as the went inside. He frowned a bit, tail sagging. ❝...I jus'... had a bad nightmare that um.. felt real and.. and could become real one day if I don't get my shit together...❞ he chuckled weakly.
Dylan led them inside, hesitating. He sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh. ❝... I mean. I guess not.. entirely. I'd have to do something REALLY fucked up for it to happen, and even then...❞
❝...When things hard or- or different, I um. Run. I-it's a bad habit i know, to escape instead of talking it out. A-and i stay away for days.❞ he shrugged and bit his lip. ❝My nightmare was that I had ran, then came back. And... everyone was gone. Their stuff, my stuff was torn... i.. I ran to my uncle's and he was gone too...❞
Sherlock sat on the couch next to Dylan, listening. He glanced around the cabin, as if checking to make sure nothing Dylan described from his dream had actually happened. "So... you think they left because you ran and they got mad? Or because they went to look for you?"
He shook his head, looking down as he fidgeted with his bracelets. ❝They left, because they were irritated with my habit o' runnin'... they... didn't wanna deal with me anymore. W-which um... I would understand....❞
Dylan's bracelets were interesting; Sherlock couldn't help but wonder about the stories each one held. "Maybe. But you also call them your brother and uncle. I get the idea that you guys chose each other."
"A lot of my friends are runners. I am too, sometimes. Assuming we don't go looking for each other, there has never been a time we came back and the lights were off. The people waiting under the lamp were brothers, sisters, fathers. Maybe I'm overstepping, but... it doesn't sound like they would leave you. It's a scary thought, sure, but logically, reasonably, they wouldn't do that, would they?"
He nodded slowly, and let out a breath. ❝Realistically, no. Huron wouldn't leave, H-hes been left before and... he doesn't wanna do that to anyone else. Buck may get real angry, but he doesn't leave, same with johnnie. Oliver may get anxious... but doesn’t leave... 'n Tubbs ain't gonna up 'n leave his studio i know that...❞
He closed his eyes. ❝'m the only one who leaves sometimes... and.. i-i dunno how to stop and not get scared. Ya know?❞
“I do, yeah.” Thought it had gone worse for Sherlock than just bad dreams. “There’s nothing wrong with stepping out for a second. Taking a breath. I think it’s the ‘days on end’ bit that gets worrying. But you know that realistically no-one will leave you.”
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s a first step. Rationalising things helps me a lot. Especially when it comes to relationships, rejection, stuff like that.”
Dylan nodded, looking up. He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a whisper. ❝...that gang i used to be in? The ruffians?... I learned running from them. I mean. I learned that... if I... if I said no to something, to someone, I had to run. If I didn't want to be part of something i had to run and hide for days, until it was passed.❞ he sighed and shook his head.
❝I uh. Dunno how to really rationalize. I get so... in my head.❞ he chuckled weakly. ❝...I'l work on it...❞
“Guess that makes sense, with a name like ‘ruffians’. Geez.” Sherlock looked at Dylan, vague concern on his face. “That’s not normal. Or okay. It sounds like you were forced to do things. That’s not how a gang is supposed to work. I’m sorry.”
He smiled slightly at the chuckle. “It’s not easy. Humans are irrational by default. Especially if you don’t catch it early enough.”
Dylan looked away, tail curling around himself as he remembered Seth, Marisa, the robberies, the guns to his head, the... other stuff. He frowned. ❝...It wasn't ok. We weren't really a gang. More so jus'.. broken misfits, blaming each other and using. I thoight they were my friends the longest time, even after we all split. Wasn't until real recently I realized how fucked everything was.❞
He shrugged and cleared his throat. ❝But past is past, I've gotten my bits of revenge and paid for it.... 'n no kidding.❞
He looked at sherlock and smiled a little. ❝....I never turn down a hug anymore.❞
“Nope! No more than usual, anyway,” Sherlock chuckled. “He just needed someone to watch his back, I suppose. Though not one of his gang… nevermind. You need anything? More lemonade?”
Dylan nodded slowly, and frowned a little. ❝....Do you... think that gang will last? I-i've jus'... heard from charles sometimes that things seem uh, tense.❞
He shook his head. ❝Besides a nap tomorrow probably, nah.❞
“Ha! No. Not from what Mr. Morgan’s said. Mainly about a Dutch and a Micah. Which… if they got Micah out, maybe. But Dutch is the leader, isn’t he? So that poses a problem.”
Dylan nodded, and shivered at the remembrance of Micah. ❝Micah, blegh... he shot me once, 'n tied me up to his horse once too. Wasn't fun. I hope he rots.❞
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Oh? He stays at camp? I’ll fight him for you.” He didn’t actually know where the camp was, but it couldn’t possibly be that hard to find.
He smiled back and stood up, getting a bit dizzy but letting it pass. ❝Hell yeah. You can take the couch here, 'n I'll sleep out on the floor here. Ima grab some blankets and stuff!❞
Dylan smiled at him and nodded, ❝You can take the couch, trust me, I've slept in worse than the ground. Much worse.... water would be nice though so I'll have ta get that-❞
“Here, I can take care of the water. I think I remember where the cups are.” He made his way to the kitchen, looking through a cabinet or two before finding the water glasses.
Dylan smiled softly at Sherlock, grateful. He moved to the bedroom, being quiet not to wake johnnie or Oliver, and grabbed aome blankets and pillows. He then made his way back to the living room, starting to set up.
Buck hitched Duke on the hitching posts right outside Tubbs studio. Normally he didn't like to ride his horse on trails he could simply walk, but his leg and hips hurt like a bitch today, so, do what ya can.
He made sure everything was set good, feeling nervous. He knew he shouldn't, it was Tubbs, a friend, family. But still... it was the idea of asking someone for help that made him more antsy than anything.
None the less, he moved up the small steps with a limp, then knocked on the door. He adjusted his hat as he waited now.
@red-dead-muses
~(the person to open the door after knocking wasn't Tubbs but instead Frankie who seemed surprised before smiling)~
"oh! Buck, hello it's been so long since I've seen you"
~(Frankie gave Buck a short hug before pulling away)~
"let me guess, you're here for Tubbs and not yours truly? You wound me"
~(She laughed before stepping to the side, welcoming him in)~
Buck blushed a bit and adjusted his hat again, rubbing his neck after. ❝I-I do. But i... i-i got you something, and it was only shipped to Saint Denis.❞ he admitted as he moved to the box, patting it.
❝Frankie 'n Tubbs went with me, I jus'... didn't wanna go alone. But um.❞ he smiled nervously.
Buck hugged him back, smiling and nodding. ❝Y-yeah! There's a uh, note inside, then um.. the gifts.❞ oh god he hoped he liked them and he hoped the note was ok and actually printed right, and so did the thing in the note...
Buck rolled his eyes, ❝'n out with it she finally admits.❞ he laughed.
The note inside was Buck handwriting, but clearly he had done his best to make it neat and able to read, and kinda fancy.
❝To, My love.
I don't think there's enough words in any Language to say what I want to, or what I really mean. You are my world, but you also more than that. You are the reason for living, my purpose, you are my person.
Mahal kita. Masaya ako na ako ang para sa iyo. Masaya ako na nasa tabi mo ako.
Hindi mo lang ako ginawang pinakamasaya at pinakamaswerteng lalaki sa mundo; ginawa mo rin akong pinakamamahal.
Without this family, I wouldn't be who I am. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. I like myself, because you are with me, because i had the chance to meet you, to marry you, and to live with you. Your smile is the highlight of my morning, your tired face is the reason I crawl into bed.
I'm never good with this stuff. But I hope I make you just as happy, as you do me.❞
And under the note, still attached to it, was their wedding photo, printed out and framed with a thin dark wood frame, engravings of their birth month flowers around it.
[Huron was honestly tearing up from the letter alone, he knew that a lot of thought and effort was put into it, Frankie let out an 'awwwww' and was even more curious of everything when Huron looked into the box]
But when you pulled it out, it wasn't, just dhaped as such and it was a bit heavy.
Buck cleared his throat, ❝I-it's a new radio, BUT it also doubles as a CD player, cassette player, 'n a vinyl.❞ he smiled sheepishly. ❝Dave helped me make the design and I had to explain a lot to him 'bout CD's and shit, but it should work.❞
Next to it in just some wrapping were some new CD's and cassetes; of Hurons favorite songs, Johnnies, huron and Bucks mix of music, the likes. ❝I had Dylan ask johnnie a few weeks back on how someone would even made a CD or cassette. I did my best.❞
[Huron couldn't help but blink out tears, it was such a simple thing but to Huron, his whole livelihood was music, to have someone be so loving and supportive of that made him love Buck that much more, in his rambling Huron hugged him tight]
Buck hitched Duke on the hitching posts right outside Tubbs studio. Normally he didn't like to ride his horse on trails he could simply walk, but his leg and hips hurt like a bitch today, so, do what ya can.
He made sure everything was set good, feeling nervous. He knew he shouldn't, it was Tubbs, a friend, family. But still... it was the idea of asking someone for help that made him more antsy than anything.
None the less, he moved up the small steps with a limp, then knocked on the door. He adjusted his hat as he waited now.
@red-dead-muses
~(the person to open the door after knocking wasn't Tubbs but instead Frankie who seemed surprised before smiling)~
"oh! Buck, hello it's been so long since I've seen you"
~(Frankie gave Buck a short hug before pulling away)~
"let me guess, you're here for Tubbs and not yours truly? You wound me"
~(She laughed before stepping to the side, welcoming him in)~
Buck blushed a bit and adjusted his hat again, rubbing his neck after. ❝I-I do. But i... i-i got you something, and it was only shipped to Saint Denis.❞ he admitted as he moved to the box, patting it.
❝Frankie 'n Tubbs went with me, I jus'... didn't wanna go alone. But um.❞ he smiled nervously.
Buck hugged him back, smiling and nodding. ❝Y-yeah! There's a uh, note inside, then um.. the gifts.❞ oh god he hoped he liked them and he hoped the note was ok and actually printed right, and so did the thing in the note...
Buck rolled his eyes, ❝'n out with it she finally admits.❞ he laughed.
The note inside was Buck handwriting, but clearly he had done his best to make it neat and able to read, and kinda fancy.
❝To, My love.
I don't think there's enough words in any Language to say what I want to, or what I really mean. You are my world, but you also more than that. You are the reason for living, my purpose, you are my person.
Mahal kita. Masaya ako na ako ang para sa iyo. Masaya ako na nasa tabi mo ako.
Hindi mo lang ako ginawang pinakamasaya at pinakamaswerteng lalaki sa mundo; ginawa mo rin akong pinakamamahal.
Without this family, I wouldn't be who I am. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. I like myself, because you are with me, because i had the chance to meet you, to marry you, and to live with you. Your smile is the highlight of my morning, your tired face is the reason I crawl into bed.
I'm never good with this stuff. But I hope I make you just as happy, as you do me.❞
And under the note, still attached to it, was their wedding photo, printed out and framed with a thin dark wood frame, engravings of their birth month flowers around it.
[Huron was honestly tearing up from the letter alone, he knew that a lot of thought and effort was put into it, Frankie let out an 'awwwww' and was even more curious of everything when Huron looked into the box]
But when you pulled it out, it wasn't, just dhaped as such and it was a bit heavy.
Buck cleared his throat, ❝I-it's a new radio, BUT it also doubles as a CD player, cassette player, 'n a vinyl.❞ he smiled sheepishly. ❝Dave helped me make the design and I had to explain a lot to him 'bout CD's and shit, but it should work.❞
Next to it in just some wrapping were some new CD's and cassetes; of Hurons favorite songs, Johnnies, huron and Bucks mix of music, the likes. ❝I had Dylan ask johnnie a few weeks back on how someone would even made a CD or cassette. I did my best.❞
[Huron couldn't help but blink out tears, it was such a simple thing but to Huron, his whole livelihood was music, to have someone be so loving and supportive of that made him love Buck that much more, in his rambling Huron hugged him tight]
Buck hitched Duke on the hitching posts right outside Tubbs studio. Normally he didn't like to ride his horse on trails he could simply walk, but his leg and hips hurt like a bitch today, so, do what ya can.
He made sure everything was set good, feeling nervous. He knew he shouldn't, it was Tubbs, a friend, family. But still... it was the idea of asking someone for help that made him more antsy than anything.
None the less, he moved up the small steps with a limp, then knocked on the door. He adjusted his hat as he waited now.
@red-dead-muses
~(the person to open the door after knocking wasn't Tubbs but instead Frankie who seemed surprised before smiling)~
"oh! Buck, hello it's been so long since I've seen you"
~(Frankie gave Buck a short hug before pulling away)~
"let me guess, you're here for Tubbs and not yours truly? You wound me"
~(She laughed before stepping to the side, welcoming him in)~
Buck blushed a bit and adjusted his hat again, rubbing his neck after. ❝I-I do. But i... i-i got you something, and it was only shipped to Saint Denis.❞ he admitted as he moved to the box, patting it.
❝Frankie 'n Tubbs went with me, I jus'... didn't wanna go alone. But um.❞ he smiled nervously.
Buck hugged him back, smiling and nodding. ❝Y-yeah! There's a uh, note inside, then um.. the gifts.❞ oh god he hoped he liked them and he hoped the note was ok and actually printed right, and so did the thing in the note...
Buck rolled his eyes, ❝'n out with it she finally admits.❞ he laughed.
The note inside was Buck handwriting, but clearly he had done his best to make it neat and able to read, and kinda fancy.
❝To, My love.
I don't think there's enough words in any Language to say what I want to, or what I really mean. You are my world, but you also more than that. You are the reason for living, my purpose, you are my person.
Mahal kita. Masaya ako na ako ang para sa iyo. Masaya ako na nasa tabi mo ako.
Hindi mo lang ako ginawang pinakamasaya at pinakamaswerteng lalaki sa mundo; ginawa mo rin akong pinakamamahal.
Without this family, I wouldn't be who I am. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. I like myself, because you are with me, because i had the chance to meet you, to marry you, and to live with you. Your smile is the highlight of my morning, your tired face is the reason I crawl into bed.
I'm never good with this stuff. But I hope I make you just as happy, as you do me.❞
And under the note, still attached to it, was their wedding photo, printed out and framed with a thin dark wood frame, engravings of their birth month flowers around it.
[Huron was honestly tearing up from the letter alone, he knew that a lot of thought and effort was put into it, Frankie let out an 'awwwww' and was even more curious of everything when Huron looked into the box]
But when you pulled it out, it wasn't, just dhaped as such and it was a bit heavy.
Buck cleared his throat, ❝I-it's a new radio, BUT it also doubles as a CD player, cassette player, 'n a vinyl.❞ he smiled sheepishly. ❝Dave helped me make the design and I had to explain a lot to him 'bout CD's and shit, but it should work.❞
Next to it in just some wrapping were some new CD's and cassetes; of Hurons favorite songs, Johnnies, huron and Bucks mix of music, the likes. ❝I had Dylan ask johnnie a few weeks back on how someone would even made a CD or cassette. I did my best.❞
[Huron couldn't help but blink out tears, it was such a simple thing but to Huron, his whole livelihood was music, to have someone be so loving and supportive of that made him love Buck that much more, in his rambling Huron hugged him tight]
Buck hitched Duke on the hitching posts right outside Tubbs studio. Normally he didn't like to ride his horse on trails he could simply walk, but his leg and hips hurt like a bitch today, so, do what ya can.
He made sure everything was set good, feeling nervous. He knew he shouldn't, it was Tubbs, a friend, family. But still... it was the idea of asking someone for help that made him more antsy than anything.
None the less, he moved up the small steps with a limp, then knocked on the door. He adjusted his hat as he waited now.
@red-dead-muses
~(the person to open the door after knocking wasn't Tubbs but instead Frankie who seemed surprised before smiling)~
"oh! Buck, hello it's been so long since I've seen you"
~(Frankie gave Buck a short hug before pulling away)~
"let me guess, you're here for Tubbs and not yours truly? You wound me"
~(She laughed before stepping to the side, welcoming him in)~
Buck blushed a bit and adjusted his hat again, rubbing his neck after. ❝I-I do. But i... i-i got you something, and it was only shipped to Saint Denis.❞ he admitted as he moved to the box, patting it.
❝Frankie 'n Tubbs went with me, I jus'... didn't wanna go alone. But um.❞ he smiled nervously.
Buck hugged him back, smiling and nodding. ❝Y-yeah! There's a uh, note inside, then um.. the gifts.❞ oh god he hoped he liked them and he hoped the note was ok and actually printed right, and so did the thing in the note...
Buck rolled his eyes, ❝'n out with it she finally admits.❞ he laughed.
The note inside was Buck handwriting, but clearly he had done his best to make it neat and able to read, and kinda fancy.
❝To, My love.
I don't think there's enough words in any Language to say what I want to, or what I really mean. You are my world, but you also more than that. You are the reason for living, my purpose, you are my person.
Mahal kita. Masaya ako na ako ang para sa iyo. Masaya ako na nasa tabi mo ako.
Hindi mo lang ako ginawang pinakamasaya at pinakamaswerteng lalaki sa mundo; ginawa mo rin akong pinakamamahal.
Without this family, I wouldn't be who I am. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. I like myself, because you are with me, because i had the chance to meet you, to marry you, and to live with you. Your smile is the highlight of my morning, your tired face is the reason I crawl into bed.
I'm never good with this stuff. But I hope I make you just as happy, as you do me.❞
And under the note, still attached to it, was their wedding photo, printed out and framed with a thin dark wood frame, engravings of their birth month flowers around it.
[Huron was honestly tearing up from the letter alone, he knew that a lot of thought and effort was put into it, Frankie let out an 'awwwww' and was even more curious of everything when Huron looked into the box]
But when you pulled it out, it wasn't, just dhaped as such and it was a bit heavy.
Buck cleared his throat, ❝I-it's a new radio, BUT it also doubles as a CD player, cassette player, 'n a vinyl.❞ he smiled sheepishly. ❝Dave helped me make the design and I had to explain a lot to him 'bout CD's and shit, but it should work.❞
Next to it in just some wrapping were some new CD's and cassetes; of Hurons favorite songs, Johnnies, huron and Bucks mix of music, the likes. ❝I had Dylan ask johnnie a few weeks back on how someone would even made a CD or cassette. I did my best.❞
Buck hitched Duke on the hitching posts right outside Tubbs studio. Normally he didn't like to ride his horse on trails he could simply walk, but his leg and hips hurt like a bitch today, so, do what ya can.
He made sure everything was set good, feeling nervous. He knew he shouldn't, it was Tubbs, a friend, family. But still... it was the idea of asking someone for help that made him more antsy than anything.
None the less, he moved up the small steps with a limp, then knocked on the door. He adjusted his hat as he waited now.
@red-dead-muses
~(the person to open the door after knocking wasn't Tubbs but instead Frankie who seemed surprised before smiling)~
"oh! Buck, hello it's been so long since I've seen you"
~(Frankie gave Buck a short hug before pulling away)~
"let me guess, you're here for Tubbs and not yours truly? You wound me"
~(She laughed before stepping to the side, welcoming him in)~
Buck blushed a bit and adjusted his hat again, rubbing his neck after. ❝I-I do. But i... i-i got you something, and it was only shipped to Saint Denis.❞ he admitted as he moved to the box, patting it.
❝Frankie 'n Tubbs went with me, I jus'... didn't wanna go alone. But um.❞ he smiled nervously.
Buck hugged him back, smiling and nodding. ❝Y-yeah! There's a uh, note inside, then um.. the gifts.❞ oh god he hoped he liked them and he hoped the note was ok and actually printed right, and so did the thing in the note...
Buck rolled his eyes, ❝'n out with it she finally admits.❞ he laughed.
The note inside was Buck handwriting, but clearly he had done his best to make it neat and able to read, and kinda fancy.
❝To, My love.
I don't think there's enough words in any Language to say what I want to, or what I really mean. You are my world, but you also more than that. You are the reason for living, my purpose, you are my person.
Mahal kita. Masaya ako na ako ang para sa iyo. Masaya ako na nasa tabi mo ako.
Hindi mo lang ako ginawang pinakamasaya at pinakamaswerteng lalaki sa mundo; ginawa mo rin akong pinakamamahal.
Without this family, I wouldn't be who I am. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. I like myself, because you are with me, because i had the chance to meet you, to marry you, and to live with you. Your smile is the highlight of my morning, your tired face is the reason I crawl into bed.
I'm never good with this stuff. But I hope I make you just as happy, as you do me.❞
And under the note, still attached to it, was their wedding photo, printed out and framed with a thin dark wood frame, engravings of their birth month flowers around it.
♧Charles Smith♧ @red-dead-muses - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
